


Lua

by Swirlyer



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Cancer, Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Alcohol Abuse, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Terminal Illnesses, very sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 11:05:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6077007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swirlyer/pseuds/Swirlyer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He looks back at Enjolras, bewildered and maybe a bit self conscious, looking for answers. Enjolras' face is impossibly saddened, eyes tired and glazed. He reaches out a hand and cups Grantaire's cheek, and that's when Grantaire knows it's coming, and no — no —</p><p>"I could have loved you," Enjolras whispers, and everything hurts. He knows those words.</p><p>Or, the one where Grantaire's soulmate tattoo begins to fade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lua

 

* * *

 

Grantaire thinks it's a trick on the lighting at first.

He wakes up with a hangover, and he barely spares his wrist a glance as he clumsily stumbles to the medicine cabinet to rummage for some pain killers. It's only when he's opening the bottle that he notices the deep maroon red is more faded than usual.

The pill bottle drops from his hand as his fingers go to trace the cursive letters. It's still stark against his skin, but it's different somehow, noticeably lighter than usual.

It's the lighting, he tells himself as he goes to clean up the mess he made with pills, hands shaking. It's hardly even noticeable — he's just overreacting, probably still buzzed from last night.

Still, that doesn't stop it from niggling in the back of his mind.

***

Enjolras stares blankly at the wall, his hand shaking so much that he almost drops his phone, and he hardly has the presence of mind to reply back. When he speaks, he keeps his tone careful and level, and doesn't let any emotion leak through.

"Yes, thank you," He says on autopilot.

He receives some recommendations for other doctors, and even has the presence of mind to write down a number for a coping center.

When he finally hangs up, he dazedly lowers himself to the bed and puts his face in his hands. It's quiet like that, and he almost wishes he hadn't answered the call, like avoiding the truth could somehow change his condition. They did say ignorance was bliss, after all.

When Enjolras reaches for the phone again, his hands are still shaking.

"Courfeyrac," He says, as soon as the line picks up. "It's bad."

"What?" Courfeyrac whispers, voice thick, because he knows, and Enjolras knows he knows.

Still, Enjolras says it anyways, because it still feels intangible, unreal somehow. "It's cancer."

***

Two weeks later, Grantaire notices his tattoo is now a murky pink, dark enough to be considered red but light enough to cause alarm.

He's heard of this happening before.

Still, he feels weak and woozy from it. Grantaire had shown it to Bahorel a week ago, and he had laughed and patted him on the back, telling him he was imagining things. He'd believed him, deciding Bahorel was probably right. He'd always obsessed over his tattoo — ever since it appeared when he was sixteen.

Grantaire always wondered what it could mean, and in a way he wishes his was quirky and funny like Feuilly and Bahorels — ' _You want to fight, asshole?_ ' ' _Fuck yes._ '

But his isn't.

And it all made sense now, and the thought causes Grantaire to fall back onto the nearest bench. He's shaking a bit, and a part of him wants to yell and cry and shout because it's not  _fair._

Because written in fading, extravagant cursive on his wrist are the words, ' _I could have loved you_.'

Grantaire's heard of this happening before — it doesn't happen often, only if the tie to another person is strong enough. And Grantaire knows it's strong. He's felt a longing for his soulmate for years, a distant pull, like an incomplete piece of art.

And now, chances are, his soulmate is going to die before Grantaire ever gets to meet them.

Bitterly, Grantaire thinks that _of course_  this would happen to him.

He begins drinking, because he knows what this means and he can't handle it — he can't. Eventually, Bahorel convinces him to come to a meeting, if only to get Grantaire out of bed, and Grantaire rather reluctantly agrees.

***

There's a god in the room.

The man is blond and unfairly attractive, if a bit thin. It looks like he could have been made of lean muscle at one point, probably more than Grantaire, but now he seems fragile and weightless, like a strong gust of wind could blow him off his feet, and Grantaire is immediately drawn to him.

He thinks of his soulmate, the rapidly fading ink on his wrist that grows lighter by the day, and he thinks that they'd probably want him to move on. 'I could have loved you,' wasn't a lot to go on from a person, but Grantaire likes to believe he knows his soulmate, even if he's never met them.

Bahorel whispers that the unofficial leader of their gathering is Enjolras, a fiery blond man that, according to Bahorel, was almost as stubborn as Grantaire. And hearing Enjolras speak, well, that's another story in general.

He isn't really paying attention to the words — he could tell they were idealistic by nature — but his voice is powerful and commanding. He speaks like he's reprimanding his very county, and it's intoxicating.

When Enjolras stops speaking, he excuses himself to the bathroom, and Grantaire has half a mind to follow him in there. But that's beyond creepy, so he stays where he is and ponders Enjolras.

The name seems familiar, somehow. And when Enjolras returns, his face is flushed and he's coughing slightly. He goes to greet Grantaire, because apparently that's what he does when someone new attends their meetings.

But it's Grantaire who speaks first — it's always Grantaire who speaks first. Grantaire grins, the feeling foreign on his mouth after the past months he'd spent absolutely miserable.

"I can see why people come to these things," Grantaire says to him appraisingly, laughing. He sits up straighter, hoping to bait the other man into response, to give Grantaire more attention than he normally would deserve.

At that, the room turns dead silent. Enjolras' face has turned completely ashen. Grantaire's eyebrows furrow, and he's used to offending people, but when he turns to gauge everyone's reactions, a feeling of cold dread settles in his stomach.

Something's wrong, but he doesn't know what. What did he do?

He looks back at Enjolras, bewildered and maybe a bit self conscious, looking for answers. Enjolras' face is impossibly saddened, eyes tired and glazed. He reaches out a hand and cups Grantaire's cheek, and that's when Grantaire knows it's coming, and no — no —

"I could have loved you," Enjolras whispers, and everything hurts. He knows those words.

Grantaire's mouth is parted in a perfect 'o'.

Enjolras is his soulmate.

Enjolras is dying.

It's not fair. Horror displays on Grantaire's face, and the hand Enjolras has on him is cold, and that's not right — Grantaire always imagined his soulmate would be warm, comforting, healthy — not — not this.

"No," He breathes, but there's no point.

The fading ink on his wrist aches. Grantaire wants to cry, but he's never been able to cry in front of people.

When Enjolras speaks, his voice is hoarse, and his tone pained. "I'm — I'm sorry."

Of course the universe would give him a soulmate who, in all likeliness, would die very soon. Now that he's close to Enjolras, he can see the evidence of it. Enjolras' eyes are tired, fatigued and tight around the edges. His body is frail and thin because he has no appetite. His skin is pale and slightly clammy from the effort it takes to move.

"Tell me," Grantaire says, begs almost.

Distantly, Grantaire can hear the people moving out of the room, giving them privacy, and he's thankful and scared and he still wants to cry. It's not fair.

Enjolras closes his eyes, and even when he's dying he's lovely. His eyelashes are blond at the ends, there's a very faint dusting of freckles on his high cheekbones, and his mouth is pert and pink. "Stage four lung cancer. I have a couple of months."

The cold dread of it makes his heart sink somewhere to his stomach. But it occurs to him that Enjolras also thought he was going to die without seeing his soulmate, and Grantaire's pain suddenly seems so small in comparison.

Enjolras is dying. He must be scared and depressed, and the guilt he must be feeling would be incredible, too. Guilt of putting a soulmate through this.

Grantaire clutches Enjolras' hoodie, and even though they just met, he's pulling him close and tucking Enjolras into his arms. It's awkward, at first — Enjolras is still half standing, and he's tense, like he doesn't know how to react.

But then Enjolras melts into his embrace, letting out a shuddering breath and curling towards Grantaire. Grantaire holds him, runs a hand through the curls that signify Enjolras didn't care for treatment, and a part of Grantaire is glad. Enjolras' hair is beautiful.

"It doesn't matter," Grantaire finds himself saying, breathing into Enjolras' hair. It smells so nice. "I don't care if this is the first and last day I'll ever see you. I've been waiting to meet you my whole life."

"I'm dying," Enjolras replies, like that's the only thing he needs to say to put Grantaire off. "Don't do that to yourself."

"Let me see it," Grantaire says instead, needing to know.

When Enjolras pulls up his sleeve to reveal the words ' _I can see why people come to these things_ ' on his wrist, Grantaire brings it up and presses a kiss to the skin.

That's answer enough.

***

The months pass by faster than they have any right to. Grantaire wishes time could slow down somehow, but as a nihilist, he knows time has little regard for humans.

Grantaire can't decide what he hates the most — the long, horrifying moments where Enjolras is coughing and can't catch his breath, and Grantaire thinks it's now, _it's this time_ — or the moments when Enjolras is in so much pain he curls in on himself and tries not to shake from it.

The first time it happens, Enjolras is lying in bed, unable to get up or even move. Grantaire curls around him, kissing where it hurts and whispering that he's going to be okay.

"I have an idea," Grantaire says, spooning Enjorlas. He breathes it against his neck, and Enjolras makes a tired noise to prompt him. He's not as eloquent these days. "Turn over onto your stomach. I promise, just trust me."

"I do," Enjolras murmurs, rolling onto his belly and curling his hands in the sheets momentarily.

Grantaire feels hesitant at first, and he doesn't even know why. Enjorlas seems so fragile these days, like touching him wrong could bring pain, and God knows Enjolras has enough of that already.

But he pulls up Enjolras' shirt, and caresses the smooth skin his finds there. Enjolras' shoulders are bony — he hasn't been eating as much — but Grantaire ignores that. He presses down on a particularly knotted spot, and Enjolras makes a sound.

Grantaire freezes, utterly motionless. But Enjolras is shifting a bit, turning his head to the side to look at Grantaire, and even though he's in so much pain, his smile is still sweet somehow. "Do that again."

It's not easy, giving a message without lotion or oil or anything, but Enjolras is making content little sounds and arching into his touches and it's more than enough.

Eventually, Enjolras falls asleep. Grantaire lets out a huff of amusement, but he's secretly relieved to see Enjolras getting some rest for a change. It's not really that Enjolras has trouble falling asleep, but he always wakes a couple of hours later because he's coughing so much.

***

Sometimes, Grantaire sings to him.

They'd been in Grantaire's apartment, Enjolras moving around the kitchen and making them breakfast on one of those rare days where he had energy, Grantaire had been playing some chords and runs on his guitar.

Enjolras has to have oxygen now, but it's good to see him moving around, and it gives Grantaire the inspiration to pick up his guitar again.

When Grantaire tells Enjolras he was in a band in high school, Enjolras had laughed for five minutes upon hearing that the name was 'Toxicity of our love'.

Grantaire doesn't feel embarrassed, and he's glad to have made Enjolras laugh. Later that night, after a particularly bad coughing fit that has Grantaire's heart stopping, Enjolras asks Grantaire if he sings, and together they sit on the couch while Grantaire contemplates a song.

With Enjolras curled up by his side, exhausted, Grantaire begins the first lonely notes to Lua, by Bright Eyes. It seems cheesy somehow, but Enjolras melts against him at the sound of Grantaire's voice.

Later, when Enjolras is breathing against his neck and snoring softly, Grantaire maneuvers to set his guitar down so he can hold Enjolras. He makes a silent mental note to learn more of those types of songs for Enjolras.

***

In the end, it's a bad case of pneumonia that takes Enjolras from Grantaire.

Neither of them see it coming.

Grantaire never liked hospitals. But the doctor comes up to him and Enjolras, who's breathing is wet and strained, and Grantaire grabs his hand because he knows. He can hear Enjolras' lungs from just where he is.

"I'm sorry," The doctor says, practiced and patient. "With your condition, the chances of you overcoming the infection are very low."

He explains the complications, but Grantaire doesn't hear him, doesn't hear how they'll make sure Enjolras is as comfortable as possible. Grantaire never really understood why doctors said that, why they lied — what was that even supposed to mean? Would they take all the cotton balls in the entire hospital and fill a room with them, and delightfully name it the 'comfort room'?

When the doctor leaves after giving Enjolras oxygen, Enjolras cries. For all the couple of months Grantaire knew him, Enjolras never cried. But now he makes a broken little sob, choked up and wheezing, and every part of Grantaire just _breaks_.

He curls into the hospital bed with Enjolras, holds him close and tries not to cry himself. "I'm scared, 'Taire," Enjolras whispers, lifting the oxygen mask and pressing his face to Grantaire's neck. "I'm so scared."

The weird thing about cancer is that it's not about the person who's going to die. It's about the people around you, how the death will affect them — but Grantaire understands that now, he's the one that needs to comfort Enjolras.

Grantaire's tattoo aches, and he hasn't looked at it in awhile. When he looks down, it's barely there, and unintelligible at that. But he holds Enjolras close and whispers that it'll be okay, it's going to be alright — it's okay.

Later, everyone visits, and Courfeyrac makes jokes and cries, and Bahorel says he's going to fight the person who questioned Enjolras' strength to fight his infection, and Feuilly scoffs at him.

Jehan tells Enjolras about flowers, how sometimes they wilt and die, and Bossuet breaks his arm on his way to the hospital somehow. That causes Enjolras to laugh slightly at the cast, which he signs shakily. Joly and Combeferre are the only one's who truly seems to understand, and they're both very specific about their goodbyes.

Grantaire stays the night, and Enjolras is shaking in his arms, weak and tired but still so full of energy somehow. He needs sleep, and Grantaire strokes his hair as he begins the first lonely lines to Lua.

Just as Enjolras is about to fall asleep in his arms, he whispers something unintelligible into Grantaire's neck, but Grantaire doesn't have the heart to make him use the energy to speak again. Hearing Enjolras' faint voice is enough.

Enjolras wakes up somewhere in the early morning and goes into respiratory distress. A couple of nurses and a doctor are trying oxygen, trying everything. But nothing works.

When Grantaire glances down at his wrist, expecting to find a blank expanse of skin, he stares dully at the cursive writing, blinking.

Because written in maroon red cursive — ' _I love you, Grantaire. Always._ '

**Author's Note:**

> okay, I know I just wrote a character death fic, but this one has been in the back of my mind for forever, and I have such a thing for angst. I apologize for this. Song Grantaire sings is "lua" by bright eyes. It'll be probably make you cry more go listen


End file.
